All That Remains
by The Whisper of Wings
Summary: She is obsessed with it – all her life she has chased after it. But she always falls short.


**Title: **All That Remains

**Character(s): **Natalie Kabra

**Rating: K+**

**Genre: **Hurt/Comfort, Angst**  
Summary: **She is obsessed with it – all her life she has chased after it. But she always falls short.

* * *

_If at first you don't succeed, you're not a Kabra._

Natalie takes a deep breath, drawing in the oxygen, until it fills her lungs to bursting. It is almost time and she, for the first and only time she will ever tell herself this, is scared. There is something about the whole event, the rituals and the ceremony, the traditions long upheld, that can twist her mind into a state of nervousness. But she tries to keep up her air of confidence, knowing that it will be one of the focal, deciding points which will be considered. The clock ticks, at first assuring, then annoying. What if it will not happen like it is supposed to?

It doesn't help that her brother is beside her, his face graced with a condescending grin, seemingly keeping some secret that she isn't privy to. _You arrogant swine, _she thinks, frowning at him and making the silent thoughts known. He smiles even wider, and she tries to hold back the immediate instinct to kick him someplace where it matters, preferably the sensitive ones. _That _would teach him not to laugh at her – never mind that it is unladylike and would incur her parents' wrath. Or else turn this into the kind of scandal that made it to the tabloids. She can almost see the heading: _**Pint-sized assassin gives Polo playing brother grievous injury; Ian Kabra totaled by little sister; **_or any other way of embellishing an insignificant event such as the one she is contemplating.

Ian will never change, whatever happens today, but she – she will be broken. What will it all come down to, if she does not win? What of the sacrifices and the schemes and the plans laid out with as much accuracy as it is possible to have? No, this cannot go on. She must stop thinking that way. She _will _win, she has always known it. She is born for this, and though she has tasted the bitterness of failure, she is determined to see this one through.

Maybe she has been a little obsessed, a little too focused, a little too much. But she tells herself that it is fine. Better to be full than starving. Even the strips of paper she cut were witnesses to that: They were useless when lacking, yet may still be repaired if excessive. She thinks of every lesson life has taught her (there is absolutely none, but she will not admit that) and convinces herself she is right. Of course she is. She always has been.

Isabel takes the stand and Natalie finds it hard to sit still. Her stomach is a riot of butterflies, and she longs to be in the shooting range, practicing her aim with her dart gun. Or even in the secret labs, observing the formulation of poisons and toxins and their respective antidotes, listing down her specifications, and giving them to the head scientist to fulfill. Or, if her two main hobbies still cannot satisfy her, there is always shopping, getting lost in silks and cashmere and satin; Armani, Prada, Versace, Chanel; monogrammed or plain, expensive or secretly cheaper than it appears. These are the balms for her wounds, and they will surely be enough to calm her. But Moth – no, _Mummy _– is speaking, and she has to listen.

"Lucians," Isabel says, a smile in her face, iron in her eyes, "We stand here today, this moment we have been waiting for. It is what we always anticipate, all our lives: The Naming."

A hush spreads through the crowd and Natalie can feel the tension building. There are hundreds here, of course, but she knows who really matters. And one of them is she.

Her heart is beating unnaturally fast at the look in _Mummy's _eyes. Natalie knows this is the day her own parents has dreaded, when control leaves their hands and they can do nothing more but watch. Watch as the changes take place, with no say in them whatsoever, trapped as they had trapped others to do their bidding, long ago. She tells herself, _I am ready. We are ready._

Isabel opens the envelope, eyes like coal, black instead of the amber that they truly are. Natalie shivers. She has seen this person before, and knows that this is not her mother. The cold woman who lusts for power, willing to kill her own children, with an endless greed for everything and anything that is not hers – Natalie does not recognize her. Isabel Kabra is different, crueler than she has ever been.

"Please step forward…"

_Clear your mind. Smile. _Natalie is panicking, and hopes it does not show. What if this were to be broadcast? It wouldn't do to be all teary and nervous, a wreck. She glances at her brother and sees him still relaxed, straightening his coat, as if it is old hat to him. And maybe it is, but to her, it's different. It's new. It is terrifying, and it scares her even more to realize the depths of her own fear.

"Please step forward," Isabel says, her voice louder, "to receive the distinction as successor to the throne…"

The crowd is silent. Natalie tries not to remind herself that the Lucians usually are quiet, especially considering the fact that they are professional spies and agents, whose talents lie in the field of stealth. Silence is a necessity to them, a skill that is practiced until they reach the highest point of perfection.

Silence is deadly.

"…Ian Kabra!" Isabel announces, triumphant, and the cold eyes fade back to amber warmth. Ian acts as if it is nothing, climbing the stairs, making his speech like he has never prepared for it. But Natalie realizes that this is not the case – that he has known, from the beginning, who the Named is. He is the successor, not her; he is the Branch Leader. She wants to scream out her indignation but she cannot, and so she pastes a self-satisfactory smile on her face, as though her brother has not just stolen everything she has worked hard for. All that remains are the broken pieces, and the mad, growing thirst for revenge.

_If at first you don't succeed, you're not a Kabra. _

_You are nothing._

_

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_

Well...I am uncertain as to how that went but...Any kind of help is greatly appreciated. Also, any suggestions/requests are welcomed, since I don't have anything else in mind. Even weird pairings. Even random story ideas. Just not boy & boy/ girl & girl relationship because I don't know how to write those.

_Thank you for your time. _


End file.
